


Lavender and Leather

by Arnirien



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (insofar as a short fic can have slow build), Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, F/F, Femslash, Impact Play, Rope Bondage, Slow Build, Vaginal Fingering, bisexual!Tauriel, bisexual!Éowyn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7668313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnirien/pseuds/Arnirien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't Tauriel's first visit to Rohan, but this time she meets Éowyn. They discover they have plenty in common: warrior mindsets, precarious places on their home turf, and interest in each other. | Meets up with movie canon at a few key points, and winds its way to a (mostly) happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tauriel could see the Golden Hall of Meduseld rising up out of the next hill, as early morning light glinted off its high roof. She pressed her heels into her mount’s white flanks, urging him forward. Sunrise was only an hour past, but they had been riding hard together since long before. Thranduil’s warning to Theoden would not wait. 

Her horse Nimlas weaved swiftly through the rocky terrain, rarely waiting for guidance from Tauriel’s practiced movements. Their trust had grown quickly over the ride from the fringes of Mirkwood. They circled the hill to meet the single path that led upward, through Edoras to the king’s hall. Tauriel could feel Nimlas’s sides heaving from the effort of the long journey. She slowed him to a gentle walk and threw back the green hood covering her long hair as they approached the city’s half-open gate.

Two guards stepped forward to question her, but their inquiries were cursory and deferential. Tauriel’s chest swelled over a hollow ache deep in her gut. The Men of Rohan knew nothing of the ranked echelons among the Elves. They recognized her kind, if not her person, and they let her pass. Any soldiers from her last visit here would now be officers, old men, or dead. 

The roads were crowded with a city’s morning bustle, and here Tauriel did not hurry. Her goal was nearly reached, and if the rumors were true, Theoden rose later and later these days.

Tauriel tried to keep her eyes focused forward, but the many sounds and sights of Edoras vied for her attention. The city had grown and changed in the years since her duties had last brought her here. The sprawl of buildings had grown wider and more dense, and the pungent smells of many Men living in close proximity assaulted her nose. Her skin prickled, as nearly everyone she passed paused to stare. She felt their eyes crawling over herself and her steed, and was suddenly keenly aware of her saddleless seat, foreign gear, and unmistakably Elven features. She sat up a little straighter.

At first, the higher she climbed, the busier the streets became. She passed through a square where vendors called out in shrill voices, hawking their wares, and later she heard the clamor of a smith at work. Gradually the crowd shifted from a hectic, interweaving bustle to a thin stream trickling toward the lower reaches. The buildings fell away, too, until the path alone stretched forward to Meduseld. After all this time, it seemed Rohan’s king still maintained some small distance from his people.

Tauriel rode to the foot of the long stone stairwell that led to the entrance. She saw pairs of Men in polished armor flanking each stand between the three flights. She swung down from her seat, landing lightly in her leather boots. It was good to sink her heels into the earth again.

One of the guards nearby whistled, and a bleary looking stable boy dashed to her mount’s head to lead him to rest. Tauriel turned back a moment to whisper soothing words to the horse in Sindarin, and smiled when the boy’s eyes widened.

“His name is Nimlas,” she confided. The stable boy’s head bobbed so violently he doubled over at the waist. Tauriel winked at him and saw his cheeks redden.

Then she faced the great doors, holding her hands out at her sides, palms forward. “I come bearing tidings from King Thranduil.”

The guard who answered was tall, fair, and broad of shoulder, calling down from his post all the way at the top of the stairs. The plume at his helm displayed his captain’s rank. “What business has the Elvenking meddling in the affairs of Men?”

The harsh words took Tauriel by surprise. She knew there had never been great love between Theoden and Thranduil, but she recalled warmer welcomes past. “My news are a gift, which King Theoden may use or discard as he sees fit.” Tauriel was keen enough to catch several guards shuffle their weight and shift their eyes before the moment passed.

The captain called down again, “Come forward.”

She took the long grey stairs slowly and steadily. The guards on either side did not move or speak as she passed, and in the stillness the sound of Rohan’s banners flapping in the breeze crackled loudly. At the highest step, she paused, waiting.

“Hand over your arms. They will await you here until you depart.”

Tauriel nodded with a half smile. This custom of the Rohirrim was familiar. She pulled her unstrung bow down from its place across her back and passed it into a guard’s waiting hands. Then she pushed back the folds of her cloak and deftly unbuckled the belt that held her twin longknives at her sides. She gave the Man these, too. He stepped back and placed the weapons carefully in the long rack braced against the wall.

The captain squared his shoulders and opened his mouth, but Tauriel held up one hand to make him pause.

She bent at the waist and drew a slender throwing knife from her left boot. This she offered to the captain with both hands, holding the blade parallel to the stone floor. When he hesitated, her mischief got the better of her, and she could not help but needle him. “Surely you would like them all?”

The captain’s eyes narrowed, but he gave in. He reached out quickly and took the knife, immediately turning to pass it to the guard beside him. Facing the Elf again, he spoke curtly. “The king does not hold audience today.”

Tauriel glanced at the heavy doors to the main hall, now closed, and a thread of worry curled in her stomach. Still, her voice did not falter. “Then I shall wait for the morrow,” she said lightly.

The captain nodded his head toward toward an open archway on the eastern side of the main doors. “The steward Falgrim will arrange for your welfare.” He did not move to guide her.

Tauriel was careful not to grit her teeth. “Thank you.”

Passing under the archway and down a short walkway, she found Falgrim seated, hunched over to squint down at a large ledger. His wrinkled hands trembled as he scratched his quill across the page. Tauriel took in the sight of the white hair that fell to his shoulders in waves. She remembered this Man in his prime: straight backed, strong, and proud of his new role as steward. When he turned to look up at her, she saw cloudiness in his ailing eyes.

“It is a pleasure seeing you again, Master Falgrim,” she said, extending her hand and swallowing the pang of seeing him so frail.

His brow crinkled, but he offered his own hand readily. “Yes,” he answered as he shook, “Yes, of course. Lovely to have you in Edoras again, my dear.” His eyes shifted away uncertainly.

He did not remember. Tauriel knew the memories of Men often faltered in their old age, but she could not help but feel loss. Even this Man, who might have been a touchstone for her in Edoras, had altered beyond the point where they could meet halfway.

“May I ask how long we may expect the pleasure of your company?”

“I come bearing a message for King Theoden from King Thranduil. I await an audience at his pleasure.”

Falgrim nodded understandingly. “Very good, very good. We can house you most comfortably, of course, for as long as you need. Perhaps in the first room of the North Wing?”

“I am sure that will be most lovely,” she said.

Just as he began to brace himself to rise painfully from the rickety chair, a clear voice called from the doorway, “I can show her the way.”

Tauriel turned to see a woman clad in a blue dress, with long blonde hair that cascaded in loose waves. She was tall and slim, her posture stately.

“My lady, you need not trouble yourself,” the steward protested.

The woman’s gentle smile softened even further. “It’s no trouble.”

Falgrim nodded his assent, settling gratefully back into his seat. “If you have need of anything, do not hesitate to seek me out,” he told Tauriel.

She murmured her thanks, then took the three strides to the doorway.

The lady did not retreat to offer her additional space to pass. Instead she merely waited, motionless.

Passing close beside her, Tauriel felt the air shift. A breeze passed through the hall, and she detected the faint scent of flowers over the harsher smell of leather. The two aromas swirled together, drawing up images of lush fields alongside memories of hard rides and long hours spent in the stables polishing tack.

Tauriel could not reconcile these disparate pieces, and her head swam. Her feet guided her forward, taking two tight turns toward the North Wing. A few moments later, she realized that she had not waited for her host to lead. Still, when she looked over, the lady’s face was calm.

“This is not your first time in Edoras then,” she began, the question behind the words remaining unasked.

Tauriel felt her cheeks prickle and needed to answer anyway. “No, forgive me. I was here many summers ago.”

The lady smiled softly, then tilted her head to the side. Even indoors, light shimmered in her hair as she moved. “What do you remember most of us?”

The golden curls looked so soft and pliable. The question registered belatedly. Tauriel dragged her gaze back to the lady’s face, only to find the keen grey eyes equally mesmerizing. She looked away entirely, scrambling to gather her thoughts, in vain. “Your horses,” she finally said, and she was pleased to hear the words come out evenly.

But the lady shook her head. “One need not visit us to know that much,” she chided.

Tauriel only nodded lamely in agreement.

They reached the entrance to the room, and Tauriel felt relief brimming in her gut. She expected that she could duck away into her own space, take a few deep breaths, and relax. But the lady followed her inside and perched on a chest at the foot of bed. She sat with her weight leaning forward into her legs, looking perfectly at ease, yet ready to spring forward into action at any moment.

“I hope you find everything to your liking.” Her voice was light and airy, but those grey eyes seemed to bore deep into anything they saw. For now they were fixed on Tauriel, who felt breathless, with a heaviness settling against her chest.

She stood still a moment, swallowed, drew in a shallow breath, then lifted her chin high. “I have stayed in many places far worse, my lady.”

“Please, call me Éowyn.”

Tauriel nodded, her tongue suddenly dry. She hesitated again, hovering in the center of the room. This was not the first time she had heard the name. The tale of King Theoden’s brother-in-law Éomund dying at the hands of orcs in the west had reached even Mirkwood. Later they had heard how his wife wasted away to nothing before she passed. Éowyn, Théodwyn’s youngest child, King Theoden’s niece, was now a woman full grown. Tauriel looked at her, saw the creamy skin of her neck, and the two inches of collarbone peeking out from the under the line of her gown on each side.

Tauriel turned her back to the beautiful sight, praying to Elbereth she could hide the emotions churning between her ribs, if she had just a moment to tramp them down. She let her pack slide slowly off her shoulder, depositing it on the floor near the headboard. Pulling off her mud-splattered cloak, she hung it from a hook on the wall. She heard Éowyn speak from behind her.

“You must’ve traveled far.”

Tauriel looked over her shoulder quizzically, turning slowly to face her host. She drew herself up, pulling at the threads of focus on the edges of her mind and tying them tightly together. “It was a week’s ride,” she said matter-of-factly.

Éowyn smiled appreciatively. “You ride swiftly then, too.”

Tauriel was unsure how to reply, since Éowyn clearly knew more than she was saying aloud, and therefore remained silent.

“That is to say,” Éowyn went on conversationally, “When Éomer and his company patrol our borders, the journey lasts twenty days at least when they reach the banks of the Anduin - there and back again.”

Tauriel eased down stiffly to sit on the mattress. “A lone rider is always faster than a host,” she commented, if only to fill the silence.

Éowyn nodded her agreement. Then she let the silence grow, mercifully keeping her eyes low. 

“You are no mere messenger,” Éowyn said finally, once again hiding a question within a statement.

Tauriel inclined her head a fraction, not understanding this time.

“I saw the weapons you turned over to Hámad,” Éowyn pressed. “They are not symbolic only.”

“No,” she replied carefully, still uncertain where this line of thought led.

Éowyn hugged her arms close to her chest. Her face stayed beautiful even as it turned mournful. Tauriel wondered what dark thoughts haunted her.

“Rohan’s women learn to fight from a young age, as the men do,” she began. “But they are not called upon save in dire need.” Éowyn stopped, those shining grey eyes making her guest’s chest tighten again.

Now Tauriel could grasp the thread, and once she looked away she found she could answer. “Among my people it is different. Anyone may serve any master, when it comes to occupation. Perhaps some types favor certain disciplines, but no choice is found strange.” She looked back at Éowyn. “I know that Men are different.”

Her mind strayed then, wondering just how different they might be. She had seen enough Men in battle - she knew they were more fragile than Elves, prone to injury, illness, and age. She’d heard there were so many because they coupled more frequently and greedily, too. Her gaze fixed on the curve of Éowyn’s neck, and she wondered how smooth it might feel against her lips. How much would she writhe beneath Tauriel’s practiced fingers?

“Yes,” Éowyn said flatly, somehow with finality. She rose briskly from her perch and extended a hand in a more formal greeting. “Welcome,” and here she faltered. “Forgive me…”

“Tauriel,” she said, reaching out to take her hand, filling the two gaps at once.

Her gut burned when their eyes met again with so little distance between them. Éowyn’s hand was delicately shaped, yet strong. The contact was far too brief. She watched Éowyn stride away through the door and disappear down the hall, while her palm still tingled.


	2. Chapter 2

At first, Tauriel stayed in her quarters. When midday came, she pinched off a small corner of lembas to eat, but by nightfall she was eager for something warm and savory to fill her belly. Elven waybread keeps a person full and strong, but cannot replace the taste of freshly roasted meat or the crunch of crisp vegetables.

She made her way to the main hall, where she remembered tall, dark tapestries hanging from the walls and long wooden tables and benches within two rows of thick columns. The room was much the same after the many years. A few young children played tag around the furniture, and dogs sat behind the diners waiting patiently for scraps and bones.

Tauriel joined the line of the keep’s laborers that threaded out of the kitchen. No one spoke to her, but she felt their eyes watching. When she was just the fourth person in line, there was a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see a young woman wearing a white scarf tied over her fair hair.

“My lady, you are a guest at Meduseld. If it please you, follow me.”

With only a brief mournful glance back at the steaming pots of stew, Tauriel did as she was asked. She followed the young woman to the far eastern portion of the stronghold, where she had never ventured before.

At a blue door, the woman rapped twice, then waited.

Éowyn’s voice carried through the wood. “Enter.”

Tauriel’s heart beat faster, and her mind began to churn.

The woman pushed the door open and held it for Tauriel.

She walked slowly inside, eyes cautiously cast down. The wavering light of oil lamps and candles surrounded her.

“Thank you, Lissa,” she heard Éowyn say, and the young woman - now clearly a servant - vanished. 

Tauriel closed her fingers into fists and released them again. She heard a faint rustle of cloth, then soft footfalls, and saw Éowyn’s shadow creep closer across the floor. Then even her downturned eyes could see the burgundy fabric of the skirt of Éowyn’s gown. 

“You did not take advantage of our hospitality at noontime,” the lady said gently. “I believe even the Elves have need of nourishment.” 

 Tauriel heard the smile in her voice, and couldn’t resist the urge to look up and see it, too. Éowyn’s lips were indeed gently curving, and when Tauriel’s gaze moved up further still she saw the smile had reached even her eyes. Was that concern she saw in them, too - or something else?

 Éowyn’s arm reached forward as if to cross the space between them, but then retreated to beckon instead of touch. “Come, be at your ease.” She took the few steps moving backward instead of turning. 

 Tauriel followed as if compelled, until she stood at the side of a broad table. Two place settings were laid out on opposite sides. She saw a board of cheeses, a plate of cooked squashes, small red potatoes, and a single roasted pheasant laid out at the ready. 

 Éowyn motioned to the nearest chair. “Please.”

 Tauriel went, running her fingertips along the edge of the table as she did. The wood was old, dark, and thick - she could practically feel it breathing still, remembering.

 She sat, and Éowyn poured a red wine into her glass from a flagon. As she leaned close to place helpings of vegetables on Tauriel’s plate, a long sheath of her fair hair came untucked from behind her shoulder. Tauriel felt the soft strands brush against her elbow, and again she caught the scent of fresh blossoms. Her heart squeezed, her breath caught, and she saw Éowyn’s eyes flick to her face. Tauriel’s cheeks prickled, and she prayed they were not red. 

 “We can pass the bird, yes?” Éowyn asked. 

 Her face was so close that Tauriel almost fancied she could feel her breath against her cheek. She managed only to nod silently in answer. 

 Éowyn smiled, then circled the table to take her own seat. For a few merciful moments she stayed busy filling her own plate. Then she splayed her arms wide, balancing her wrists at the edges of the table to her right and left, and gazed across the way at Tauriel. Their eyes met and held, until at last Tauriel was the one to falter. She tucked her chin to her chest, letting her red hair fall forward to shield her face. 

 When she looked up next, Éowyn had picked up a fork and begun eating, so Tauriel decided to start, too. Though her stomach had growled before, it felt tight and uneasy now. 

 “Nimlas seems a fine horse,” Éowyn said, between bites. 

 Tauriel nodded again, then paused her eating to say, “His master praised him highly, and not a bit overmuch.” 

 “Oh, is he not yours?” Éowyn seemed surprised.

 She shook her head. “He belongs to The Sentries. He’ll carry me back, then continue in their service.” 

 “Have you no steed of your own?” 

 Tauriel felt her chest, already constricted, twist a bit more. Only the most revered of the Eldar kept their own horses, but it pained her to imagine telling Éowyn of the vast gulf between herself and those highly esteemed Elves. “A horse would be a luxury beyond my means,” she explained tightly instead.

 Éowyn made no comment. 

 Tauriel looked up, and seeing that her face had remained gentle, the knot in her ribcage relaxed enough to loosen her tongue. “And I do think,” she began slowly, continuing to watch Éowyn carefully, “that it is easier for us this way. To share our horses among many.”

 Leaning forward on an elbow as if to hear better that way, Éowyn seemed to soak in every word. 

 “They live such short lives, compared to the span of our own.” As what she’d said registered, Tauriel tucked her chin to her chest again, suddenly self-conscious. Surely Éowyn would not interpret the comment as a slight, would she? A soft voice in her mind whispered, wondering if she had said the words only to force distance between them. Shoving the thought away, she turned her attention to pulling meat from the bones of the pheasant. Then she passed the platter across the table.

 There was a small period of silence, while Éowyn took her own serving. Then she ventured, “How old are the oldest Elves?”

 Tauriel grinned, somewhat relieved that this was the question. Remembering the stuffy seriousness of Thranduil and his inner circle, she answered coyly, “As a rule, they do not say.”

 Éowyn smiled back, and somehow the expression seemed to add a little more light to the room. She stirred the vegetables on her plate a moment, hesitating. Then she looked up, with those bright grey eyes only. “And you?” The words came out smoothly, casually, yet there was an insistence behind the look that suggested more weight belonged to them than their tone revealed. 

 Tauriel’s big smile faltered, and she turned her face away, tracing the design on the wall’s tapestry with her gaze. “Old enough to remember King Folca’s rule, and his father’s.” She recalled King Theoden’s great-grandfather’s name with ease. In her peripheral vision, she daw Éowyn’s arm drop, her forkful of food forgotten. Tauriel remembered how young the lady really was - how these rulers of Rohan were her over-great uncles, for her the stuff of history and tales. 

 Tauriel’s heart pulled in opposing directions. On the one hand, the many years between their ages was mildly disconcerting, given the way her chest constricted every time Éowyn looked at her. But on the other, watching those lovely eyes grow wide in wonder was such a very beautiful thing. She let the latter emotion grow, and her smile slowly crept back. “And his father’s,” she went on, “And his…” 

 For just a moment Éowyn looked positively dumbstruck, before her regal training won over and she collected her emotions again, her face smoothing back into its pleasant if carefully cultivated arrangement. 

 Tauriel wondered what it might be like to see those practiced walls crumble. How would that lovely face contort in pleasure or twist in pain? How much would it take to push her past those long hours of courtly practice? Then she realized where her thoughts had wandered, felt the now familiar warmth spreading back into her cheeks. She couldn’t bear to keeping looking at her, not with such ideas churning in her mind.

 Before Tauriel could recover, Éowyn said, “It’s just - forgive me - you look so... _young_.” 

 The pause before and emphasis on that last word made Tauriel’s breath hitch. What other thought might she be holding back? She dared to lift her eyes and found Éowyn staring right back. Tauriel’s fingertips crept to her own face, moving lightly over the smooth skin. “The blessing of my people, or so some say.” 

 “As death is ours,” Éowyn said bitterly, looking away. 

 Tauriel did not know what to say. She pulled one of her long thin red braids forward over her shoulder, fidgeting with the looped strands. How could someone less than a score of years young understand the pain of watching the world shift, while you yourself remain unchanged? She even considered herself too young still to fully grasp that pain. Watching Éowyn set down her utensils and sit back in her chair, she supposed their dinner together was coming to an close, and she couldn’t help but mourn the sour note they were ending on. 

 She stood then, smoothing the folds of her long skirt and clearing her throat. “Thank you for the meal.”

 Éowyn startled out of her reverie and rushed to stand, too. “It was my pleasure,” she said, quickly moving around the table to walk Tauriel out. She opened the door, but as Tauriel stepped past her to exit, she spoke up again. “Perhaps, before you depart, you could show me how you braid your hair that way?” Her voice was softer than Tauriel had ever heard it before, almost shy.  

 Tauriel’s hands reached up to the back of her head. She felt where the top half of her hair was wound into several twists, woven into and out of each other again into separate braids hanging down among the loose portion. She laughed lightly. “Gladly, but this is a mess. I haven’t combed it all out properly since I left home,” she confessed. 

 Éowyn’s face lit up again, those grey eyes flashing with sudden inspiration. “Wait here!” she said excitedly, before disappearing down the hallway. 

 Tauriel hovered in the doorway, shifting her weight from foot to foot, unsure of what might be happening. Nevertheless, she had no intention of risking disappointing Éowyn by leaving. 

 Only a few minutes later, she reappeared, smiling broadly. “I have a surprise for you.” She twirled past Tauriel back into her chamber, the burgundy velvet of her dress swaying in the candlelight. 

 Tauriel’s mouth fell open, but no words came out. She dared not guess what this might mean. She watched in silence as Éowyn settled herself on a couch near the fireplace then patted the cushion beside her. 

 “It’ll be just a few minutes. Come sit with me.” 

 The couch was too small to sit apart - both their bodies would fill all of its space. Tauriel stared at the spot Éowyn had indicated, unable to make herself move forward. Her heart was fluttering, and though she longed to be back in her small guest room alone, she couldn’t help but wonder where this might lead. “I wouldn’t want to impose…” she stammered, her hands gesturing vaguely. 

 Éowyn shifted, tucking her feet up under her body and looking even more relaxed than before. “It’s no trouble, Tauriel,” she said and her voice was sincere and sad. 

 When Éowyn said her name, she felt the familiar sounds like fingers prodding against her back - still sore from her journey, seeking out every bit of tension and working it loose. It was rare to hear someone not an Elf themself say her name correctly, for somehow the lilting vowels and the way they ran together always tripped them up.

 “So often I long for company,” Éowyn continued, her eyes falling.

 Tauriel waved that away, not letting the implications register, as she took the few hurried steps forward to sit at Éowyn’s side. “How come you can say my name?” The words came tumbling out in a rush, full of enthusiastic curiosity and wonder, and lacking the calm she wished she could convey, if not feel.

 “Our peoples may not be the closest neighbors,” Éowyn admitted, “But I’ve learned a little of the Sindarin tongue in King Theoden’s house.” 

 Éowyn’s tone was neutral and her posture stayed relaxed, yet Tauriel’s cheeks prickled again. Of course, the adopted child of a king would be well learned. Tauriel had spoken Sindarin with the rangers of the north on more than one occasion, so it was hardly the first time she’d heard of Men speaking her language. “Right,” she said, almost to herself. “Of course.” 

 “Éomer and I tried to speak it together,” Éowyn went on. “Especially as children. I’ve forgotten so much over the years.” 

 Tauriel merely nodded, still recovering from feeling foolish. She sat forward on the edge of the couch, too keenly aware of their new close proximity to ease herself back into the cushions. 

 “Your Westron is very good, but I hear the Sindarin in your ‘r’s’,” Éowyn told her.

 “Really?”

 Éowyn raised an eyebrow, her eyes dancing. One of Tauriel’s hands leapt up to cover her own mouth, realizing her choice of words. Éowyn’s smile spilled over into a laugh, and her arm slid across the top of the couch, curling behind Tauriel’s back.

 She felt the short fine hairs at the base of her neck standing upright. She relaxed a fraction of an inch, teasing herself with the thought of resting back into Éowyn’s embrace. Her eyes fluttered closed, her body wavering slightly. 

 “Are you ready, my lady?” A man’s voice called from the doorway, and Tauriel felt the couch shift as Éowyn sidled away and stood. 

 “Yes, thank you, Dáma,” Éowyn said.

 Tauriel opened her eyes to see a string of servants filing into the room. One strained under a large copper tub, which he carried through to an inner chamber. Several others followed him with steaming pails of water. Her eyes widened as the ‘surprise’ came into focus. She jumped up to protest. “Oh, my lady, you needn’t - I can’t - it’s not necessary - ”

 Éowyn only held up a hand to stop her stuttering. “Shhh,” she said, smiling, reaching out a finger to press against Tauriel’s lips. “Let me give you this.” 

 These words stunned her into silence. She only manage to nod ever so slightly. Once Éowyn retracted her hand and turned away to direct the servants, Tauriel noticed herself start breathing again. She stood in front of the couch, waiting, her mind churning while she held her body still. 

 It was only a matter of moments until the last of the servants filed out, and Éowyn shut the door behind them. “Come on now, the water won’t stay hot forever,” she teased, motioning toward the inner chamber, her tone oddly reminiscent of a mother herding small children into the bath.

 The dissonance left Tauriel blinking in confusion, but she did as she was bid, walking through the inner door with Éowyn close behind. This was the bedchamber - Tauriel could see the large, sensible bed situated in the back corner. The tub was nearer, and a folding screen had been set up to block off the corner of the room, with a soft towel draped over the top. Headed that direction, she reached up to start unbraided her complicated updo. 

 Éowyn took a step closer, hands reaching out, before she hesitated. Her eyes and voice were both suddenly soft. “May I help you?”

 Tauriel swallowed but nodded, letting her hands drop back to her sides. 

 Éowyn moved behind her, reaching for one of the many small braids to unwind.

 At first Tauriel could scarcely feel the movements. Her hair was very long, after all, and Éowyn proceeded carefully. But soon she felt more and more hair falling heavy and loose down her back. Eventually she felt gentle fingertips against her head, as Éowyn began undoing the braids that laid against her scalp. Then she felt more pressure, as Éowyn’s weight shifted. Tauriel moved to look down over her shoulder at her. The scent of flowers wafted close again.

 Éowyn let her hands fall. “Perhaps you would sit for me?” she asked, smiling bashfully. “It’s a bit of a reach.”

 “Of course, forgive me.” Tauriel immediately dropped to sit cross legged there on the floor. When Éowyn did not begin again, she looked back. 

 Éowyn was still standing, her head tilted to one side, a smile playing over her lips again. She shrugged ever so slightly, then stepped closer again. She placed both her hands on Tauriel’s shoulders, and sank to her knees.

 Tauriel noticed the extra weight pass through her body down into the wooden floor. She felt grounded, connected, as though their two bodies fit together as naturally as ivy growing over a tree trunk. For a moment she even felt Éowyn’s hips press against her mid-back, before she caught her balance on her knees and focused on the braids again. The pressure of the fingertips returned, moving slowly, methodically across her scalp.

 Tauriel closed her eyes, though the warm yellow light of the lamps still reached through her lids. The rhythmic movement against her head was almost hypnotizing. Her shoulders relaxed downward, her elbows sinking lower behind her knees as her hands stayed poised on her thighs. Her breathing slowed, each inhale deeper and more full than the last. But soon the fingertips left her scalp, and soft hands smoothed down across the length of her back, tidying the thousands of strands. 

 “There.” Éowyn’s voice was rough, almost husky.

 Tauriel’s eyes fluttered open. “Thank you,” she said, unfurling her legs forward and standing again. She turned to see Éowyn had sat back on her heels. Without thinking, she held out an open hand.

 Éowyn smiled, lips slightly pursed, as she reached out to take it, bracing her palm against Tauriel’s inner wrist and forearm. Tauriel curled her fingers around the same place on Éowyn. Her arm was soft, but she could feel the sinewy musculature underneath. When she rose, she offered only the barest portion of her weight. 

 They stood facing each other, two hands still intertwined. The hands sank slowly toward the floor, the weight of both their bodies wavering closer together. 

 Éowyn whispered, “The water will get cold.” Her grey eyes wavered across Tauriel’s face, not settling anywhere.

 “Yes,” she agreed. Even though Éowyn seemed anything but concerned, she released her grip, beginning to ease her weight away again. Despite herself, she felt her fingertips lingering, brushing gently across Éowyn’s skin, loathe to break the tough completely. Was it her imagination, or did Éowyn’s fingertips do the same? 

 Tauriel looked away, but felt Éowyn’s gaze following as she walked the few paces to stand behind the screen. Likely made for Éowyn herself, it was a little short for Tauriel, blocking the view of her torso and below, but not her shoulders or face. She snuck a glance over it and saw that Éowyn had settled herself onto a wooden chair, her eyes low and looking far away. Tauriel’s stomach flipped, and she couldn’t decide whether she was relieved or disappointed that Éowyn wasn’t watching. 

 She slipped out of layer after layer, moving slowly and deliberately, keenly aware of the sensation of fabric sliding across her body. As more and more of her skin became exposed to the open air, she realized for the first time how cool the room was. Goosebumps rose along her arms and legs. Her long loose hair slid softly across her back and against her bum. She stepped out of the last of her clothing, adding to the heap of travel stained garments on the floor, then stood upright, squaring her shoulders and holding her chin high. 

 She wondered briefly if she should give warning before emerging stark naked and taking the half dozen steps to the tub. Were Men more shy about such things than Elves? Did Éowyn have any idea how distracting her presence was? Tauriel couldn’t bring herself to speak, fearing that even stealing another glance over the screen would sap her nerve. She stepped forward, and the room’s cool air swirled around her sudden motion, echoing the tumult she felt inside. Keeping her eyes fixed on the water, she crossed the distance to the tub (was it really this far before?), and nimbly lowered herself inside. 

 The water was not quite steaming anymore, but still plenty hot for Tauriel’s liking. That same tantalizing scent of flowers rose up from the tub, and she realized why it clung to Éowyn. Settling herself, she bent her knees to make room for ducking her shoulders lower. She could see the burgundy of Éowyn’s gown in her peripheral vision, and the golden sheath of her wavy hair. She spread her arms back and forth across the surface of the water, taking a deep breath and focusing on the ripples against her skin. Somewhere far away she felt aching muscles making their approval known, but she could not relax. She swallowed, searching for some way to start the conversation again. 

 Éowyn rescued her by asking, “How does it feel?”

 She saw the burgundy fabric move as Éowyn shifted, and dared to look up at her again. 

 Éowyn was leaning forward now, resting her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped. 

 She wiggled a bit in the water, settling her body and trying to find her answer. “It’s lovely,” she finally said. The words felt flat and empty, but others failed to come. She tilted her head back against the lip of the tub, reluctantly closing her eyes.

 A moment later, she heard Éowyn softly say, “I’ll leave you to enjoy it, then.”

By the time Tauriel looked up, the door had already closed behind her.


End file.
